Grim, King of the Ghosts
In the Magonomia bestiary I’ve introduced you to Grim, the Ghost King, so in this episode I’d like to give you the source documents and illustrations which led to his inclusion. I’m not a singer myself, so here are three versions of the song he appears in. I’d note each varies the title a little. The poem itself is called “The Lunatick Lover”, but by the time it is being sold in broadsheets its “Grim, King of the Ghosts” because they title by first line. The third version is called “Dolorous King of Ghosts”, and in that case “grim” has been read not as his name, but as a description of his attitude.
A modern Irish folk version, which is my favourite: https://youtu.be/OWZbwsHhLZ4
An Elizabethan styled version: https://youtu.be/Olj2hZJQz_A
The psaltery version I mentioned in the recording is, the performer states a Welsh song which is completely different from Grim, but have a listen and see what you think. https://youtu.be/M7_iiNgzKCI
The meme mentioned is https://i.kym-cdn.com/photos/images/original/002/052/171/884 and that image, more seriously, come from Matthus Merian’s Todten Tanz http://doglawreporter.blogspot.com/2010/10/guide-dogs-in-dance-of-death.html
Grim king of the ghosts, make haste,
And bring hither all your train;
See how the pale moon does waste,
And just now is in the wane.
Come, you night-hags, with all your charms,
And revelling witches away,
And hug me close in your arms;
To you my respects I’ll pay.
I’ll court you and think you fair,
Since love does distract my brain;
I’ll go, I’ll wed the night-mare,
And kiss her, and kiss her again;
But if she prove peevish and proud,
Then, a pise on her love, let her go!
I’ll seek me a winding shroud,
And down to the shades below.
A lunacy sad I endure,
Since reason departs away;
I call to those hags for a cure,
As knowing not what I say.
The beauty, whom I do adore,
Now slights me with scorn and disdain;
I never shall see her more:
Ah! how shall I bear my pain?
I ramble and range about
To find out my charming saint;
While she at my grief does flout,
And smiles at my loud complaint.
Distraction I see is my doom,
Of this I am now too sure;
A rival is got in my room
While torments I do endure.
Strange fancies do fill my head;
While wandering in despair
I am to the desarts lead,
Expecting to find her there.
Methinks in a spangled cloud
I see her enthroned on high;
Then to her I crie aloud,
And labour to reach the sky.
When thus I have raved awhile
And wearyed myself in vain,
I lye on the barren soil
And bitterly do complain.
Till slumber hath quieted me
In sorrow I sigh and weep;
The clouds are my canopy
To cover me while I sleep.
I dream that my charming fair
Is then in my rival’s bed,
Whose tresses of golden hair
Then this doth my passion inflame:
I start, and no longer can lie:
Ah! Sylvia, art thou not to blame
To ruin a lover? I cry.
Grim king of the ghosts, be true,
And hurry me hence away;
My languishing life to you
A tribute I freely pay.
To the Elysian shades I post
In hopes to be freed form care,
Where many a bleeding ghost
Is hovering in the air.
So, this is a lovely set up, because its literally an evocation, but it doesn’t give a lot of detail about Grim. I was looking up the Dance of Death by Hans Holbein for something else at the time, and stumbled upon a meme. I also found that there was a parody of the work of “Monk” Lewis that included a detailed story of Grim, so I mixed the two. Here’s the parody story, again in poetic form, from Tales of Terror, which was anonymously published. You’ll note I change the ending a bit.
GRIM , KING OF THE GHOSTS; OR , 1THE DANCE OF DEATH .
WHY, how now , old sexton ? why shake you with dread ?
Why haunt you this street, where you’re sure to catch cold ?
Full warm is your blanket, full snug is your bed !
And long since, by the steeple -chimes, twelve has been told!
Tom Tap, on this night my retreat you’ll approve,
For my churchtyard will swarm with its shroud cover’d hosts ;
Who will tell, with loud shriek , that resentment and love
Still nip the cold heart of Grim , King of the Ghosts .
One eve , as the fiend wandend through the thick gloom ,
Towards my newly – tiled cot he directed his sight;
And, casting a glance in my little back -room ,
Gazed on Nancy, my daughter, with wanton delight.
Yet Nancy was proud, and disdainful was she,
In affection’s fond speech she’d no pleasure or joy ;
And yainly he sued , though he knelt at her knee,
Bob Brisket, so comely, the young butcher’s boy !
For you, dearest Nancy, I’ve oft been a thief,
Yet my theft it was venial, a theft if it be ;
For who could have eyes , and not see you loved beef ?
Or who see a steak , and not steal it for thee ?
Remember, dear beauty, dead flesh cannot feel;
With frowns you my heart and its passion requite ;
Yet oft have I seen you, when hungry at meal,
On a dead bullock’s heart gaze with tender delight.
When you dress it for dinner, so hard and so tough,
I wish the employ your stern breastwould improve;
And, the dead bullock’s heart, while with onions you stuff,
You would stuff your own heart, cruel virgin, with love.
Young rascal! presumest thou, with butcher – like phrase,
To foul stinking onions my love to compare ;
Who have set Wick , the candle -man ,’ all in a blaze,
And Alderman Paunch , who has since been the Mayor ?
You bid me remember dead flesh cannot feel?
Then I vow, by my father’s old pick axe and spade,
Till some prince from the tombs shall behave so genteel
As to ask me to wed , I’ll continue a maid !
Nor him will I wed , till ( these terms must he own)
Of my two first commands the performance he boasts ; —
Straight, instead of a footman, a deep -pealing groan
Announced the approach of Grim , King of the Ghosts !
No flesh had the spectre, his skeleton skull
Was loosely wrapped round with a brown shrivel’d skin ;
His bones, ‘ stead of marrow , of maggots were full,
And the worms they crawled out; and the worms they crawled in.
His shoes they were coffins, his dim eye reveal’d
The gleam of a grave-lamp with vapours oppressed ;
And a dark crimson necklace of blood -drops congealed ,
Reflected each bone that jagged out of his breast.
In a hoarse hollow whisper- thy beauties,’ he cried ,
Have drawn up a ‘spirit to give thee a kiss ;
No butcher shall call thee, proud Nancy, his bride;
The grim King of Spectres demands thee for his.
My name frightens infants, my word raises ghosts,
My tread wakes the echoes which breathe through the aisle ;
And lo ! here stands the Prince of the Churchyard , who boasts
The will to perform thy commands for a smile.’
He said, and he kissed her : she packed up her clothes,
And straight they eloped through the window with joy ;
Yet long in her ears rang the curses and oaths
Which growl’d at his rival the gruff butcher’s boy.
At the charnel -house palace soon Nancy arrived ,
When the fiend , with a grin which her soul did appal,
Exclaimed I must warn my pale subjects I’m wived ,
And bid them prepare a grand supper and ball !
Thrice swifter than thought on his heel round he turns,
Three capers he cut, and then motionless stood ;
Then on cards, made of dead men’s skin , Nancy discerns
His lank fingers to scrawl invitations in blood .
His quill was a wind – pipe, his ink -horn a skull,
A blade-bone his pen -knife, a tooth was his seal;
Soon he ordered the cards, in a voice deep and dull,
To haste and invite all his friends to the meal.
Away flew the cards to the south and the north ,
Away flew the cards to the east and the west;
Straight with groans, from their tombs, the pale spectres stalked forth ,
In deadly apparel; and shrouding-sheets dress’d.
And quickly scared Nancy, with anxious affright,
Hears the tramp of a steed , and a knock at the gate ;
On an hell -horse so gaúnt, ‘ twas a grim ghastly sprite,
On a pillion behind a she-skeleton sate !
The poor maiden she thought ‘ twas a dream or a trance,
While the guests they assembled gigantic and tall;
Each sprite asked a skeleton lady to dance,
And King Grim with fair Nancy now open’d the ball.
Pale spectres send music from dark vaults above,
Withered legs, ‘ stead of drum – sticks, they brandish on high ;
Grinning ghosts, sheeted spirits, skipping skeletons, move,
While hoarse whispers and rattling of bones shake the sky.
‘
With their pliable joints the Scotch steps they do well,
Nancy’s hand with their cold clammy fingers they squeeze ;
Now sudden , appalled, the maid hears a death -bell,
And straight dark and dismal the supper she sees !
A tomb was the table : now each took his seat,
Every sprite next his partner so pale and so wan .
Soon as ceased was the rattling of skeleton feet,
The clattering of jaw -bones directly began ?
Of dead aldermen’s fat the mould candles were made,
Stuck in sockets of bone they gleam’d dimly and blue ;
Their dishes were scutcheons, and corses decayed
Were the viands that glutted this ravenous crew !
Through the nostrils of skulls their blood – liquor they pour,
The black draught in the heads of young infants they quaff ;
The vice- president rose, with his jaws dripping gore,
And addressed the pale damsel with horrible laugh .
“ — Feast, Queen of the Ghosts the repast do not scorn ;
Feast, Queen of the Ghosts’ 1 perceive thou hast food ;
To-morrow again shall we feast, for at noon
Shall we feast on thy flesh , shall we drink of thy blood.’
Then cold as a cucumber Nancy she grew ;
Her proud stomach came down, and she blared, and she cried ,
“Oh tell me, dear Grim , does that spectre speak true,
And will you not save from his clutches your
bride ?”
“Vain your grief, silly maid; when the matin bells ring,
The bond becomes due, which long since did I sign ;
For she, who at night weds the grizzly Ghost Kings
Next morn must be dressed for his subjects to
dine.”
“In silks and in satins for you I’ll be dressed ;
“ My soft tender limbs let their fangs never crunch !:”
“Fair Nancy, yon ghosts, should I grant your request,
Instead of at dinner would eat you at lunch ! “
” -But vain , ghostly King, is your cunning and guile;
That bond must be void which you never can pay ;
Lo ! I ne’er will be yours, till, to purchase my smile,
My two first commands (as you swore) you obey: –“
“ — Well say’st thou, fair Nancy; thy wishes impart;
But think not to puzzle Grim , King of the Ghosts.”
Straight she turns o’er each difficult task in her heart,
“ And — I’ve found out a poser,’ exultingly boasts.
You vowed that no butcher should call me his bride).
That this vow you fulfil my first asking shall be ;
And since so many maids in your clutches bave died ,
Than yourself show a bloodier butcher, –said she.
Then shrill scream the spectres ; the charnel -house gloom
Swift lightnings disperse, and the palace destroy;
Again Nancy stood in the little back -room ,
And again at her knee knelt the young butcher’s boy !
” I’ll have done with dead husbands,” she Brisket bespeaks;
“ I’ll now take a live one, so fetch me a ring !
“ And when pressed to her lips were his red beefin cheeks,
She loved him much more than the shrivel’d Ghost King.
No longer his steaks and his cutlets she spurns,
No longer he fears his grim rival’s pale band;
Yet still when the famed first of April returns,
The sprites rise in squadrons, and Nancy demand.
This informs you, Tom Tap, why to -night I remove,
For I dread the approach of the shroud -cover’d hosts,
Who tell, with loud shriek, that resentment and love,
Still nip the cold heart of Grim , King of the Ghosts !
I’ve changed the ending for a couple of reasons, the first is that it has the same solution as “King of the Air ” which it is parodying, and the solution is set up so that Lewis can note how important it is for ladies to be able to tell one kind of verb from another. As a joke it wasn’t great at the time and falls even flatter now. The second is that for Grim it doesn’t work because he can call up the ghosts of the famous dead.
“Show me a greater butcher than you!”
“Well, this is Tamburlaine, who killed everyone living in several cities and piled their heads in pyramids. You may have seen Mr Marlowe’s play about him?”
“Darn.”
The Necromance arc just kind of came to me, because I wanted you to have a reason to interact with Grim other than as a combat opponent. Vanth is one of the few death goddesses who doesn’t kill people, she’s just part of the process of ministering to the dead. Also, she’s winged, so she suited the imps.
